Sometimes Our Minds Work Against Us...

Chapter Sixty-One: Fun at the Circus

The dark shadows of the bar obscured every drunk from the light of the moon that tried to slit through the cracked windows, they sat next to one another sipping at brown bottles and giving their reflections the hairy eyeball through dirty mirrors sitting behind rows of colorful glasses filled with tonics to numb the mind.

The world was slightly fuzzy and the time was right to leave, but they remained at the bar in silence sipping at lukewarm liquid that burned their throats, finally the larger darker man on the right sighs, "What do we do now?"

"I don't know. I never know." The blond on the right says shaking his head. Both stood and pulled on their jackets, palming out a few bills for the tab and plodding out of the wooden room. The night was warm and humid, like always in California, they looked past the dirty parking lot and saw the lovely sea; the longer they stood there the more inviting the black waters seemed. Slowly the burlier of the two men, ones whose life was spent at sea and riding the waves and navigating his way to and from one place to another with no roads or navigation it was just him and a boat, he walked towards this glistening water with a deep seated hatred and he spat, and he cursed and he screamed and anyone looking would have thought him a mad man.

The blond walked over to him and grabbed his shoulders pulling him from the coast and back to the car silent and cold in the warm night. Turning it on the blond pulled out and drove until the light of day showed the familiar tunnel, he drove inside and pulled off to the edge and allowed the car to be pulled into the wall and he put it in neutral to glide down the hill to a strong river now high and waiting for someone to approach. He opened the passenger door and let the dark haired man with a deep sea men tan out and watched as he walked across the water and into the city that waited for him. He was greeted and a small wave was sent to the cars direction, a flash of headlights was the simple returning gesture.

Driving back just as he had come he drove until he reached the rainbow of houses and little shops, he parked and slid out of the leather interior of the car. His boots meet hard ground and he took such heavy steps you wouldn't believe he could walk on air.

His coworkers welcomed their talented magician who had finally returned from a week long vacation, he would be doing the usual, making people float in mid air, flying around the room with no wires, it was all the same, always the same. He slicked the blond hair down and put on his top hat, suit, and coat, he took out the shiny shoes and walked to his spot, like he always did. He stood next to the highwire girl, in the air, and walked with her, he helped the elephant around the room now that she was getting older and was having more problems, he did everything as he always did as the circus magician. That evening he was told he would be having his final performance.

"You're getting to old Grace, you need to think about doing something else with your life."

"I understand, I just want to know, may I do something different tonight, since it is my last here?"

"Yes of course,"

"I'll need the highrise roof next door."

The room that was his was packed up, made easy to move, his keys placed on top of the single brown cardboard box. He walked with a goal and set about making sure everything was in place. The letters would be sent, the account transferred, everything was arranged.

He gave some peanuts to the elephant, and said his goodbye, and when the hour came he went to the top of the sleek glass highrise.

Looking down he could see the crowd, all eyes on him, he gave a small solute and waited and listened as the man read the card he had been handed him earlier, "The Amazing Grace will now do his most amazing stunt yet! He shall disappear from the sky!" A loud raise of applause comes and Jason takes a final bow, then tips forward. falling at an ever increasing speed feeling the wind scream in his ears telling him to fly, but his heart was beating normal, his eyes were closed and his face a mask of absolute bliss. Then there was no more beat, no more eyes, and no more face or ears and the wind held its own breath in shock.

Two letters were sent and received, these were the words written upon them.

My dearest friends,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and I hope that you do remember some of the good times we had in our youth. I know now that you are in a far of land than where I stand today, please do not be upset about the rest of this letter for it is simply a receipt, a proof of purchase if you wish. At age forty-three Jason H. Grace ex Praetor of the 12th legion has passed away, his personal items and car are currently located in San Francisco California if anyone would like them please come with this letter and you may take ownership of them. If not they will be donated to whomever likes them. Please send someone to retrieve the following items; one aviator jacket, one yankee cap, one bronze knife, one silver bracelet, one bow, a small bag of cursed gems, and one gold coin. If the people who retrieve these items do not want them please return to Camp Half-Blood the jacket, cap, knife, and bracelet; the bow, gems, and coin should be given to Camp Jupiter or New Rome.

I do hope you are all doing well and I deeply apologize for my leaving without a proper goodbye. I hope the rest of your days are well my comrade.

Best of Luck,

Jason H. Grace

Two men came and retrieved the car and small cardboard box, driving to the older man's home at New Rome they opened to find all the things listed in the letters, streaked gray and black hair is disorganized by fingers and slowly he picked through the rest of the items, one jacket, one pair of jeans, one plaid shirt, one t-shirt, a pair of sneakers and....pictures. Hundreds and hundreds of pictures were stacked neatly at the bottom of the box. They showed the blond's entire life, from a small watermarked picture of a blond woman holding a blond baby and a black haired girl's hand all the way to a graying man with a beard sitting atop an elephant and everything inbetween. The curly haired man sitting next to the black haired one laughs at a few from his teen years with the blond and holds back tears with pictures of funerals....There were so many. As the sifted through each set of photographs they began to set up piles, for good days, and for bad, and on the back of the most recent picture there was a swooping note scrawled in purple ink, "The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant."